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1^1^ Loves and Losses 

of Pierrot 




Vv illiam Griffitk 




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CrOPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



LOVES AND LOSSES 
OF PIERROT 



MR. SHORES' NEW BOOKS 

Mrs. Bobble's Trained Nurse 

, By George Fox Tucker. 

Friendship and Other Poems 

By B. H. Nadal. 

The Valley of Lebanon 

By Helen S. Wright. 

Melinda and Her Sisters 

By Mrs. O. H. P. Belmont. 

The Penny Ante Club 

By Arthur J. Shores. 

Eat Your Way to Health 

By Dr. Rohert Hugh Rose. 




■•p,^....y"rtnitiit^fw. 



" Chilled in my heart, 
Unspoken words 
Become a sigh . . ." 



LOVES AND LOSSES 
OF PIERROT 



BY 

WILLIAM GRIFFITH 




FRONTISPIECE AND DECORATIONS 

BY 

RODNEY THOMSON 



1916 

ROBERT J. SHORES, Publisher 

NEW YORK 






^'^'^\\>^ 



\^ 



Copyright, 1916, by 

ROBERT J. SHORES, Publisher 

New York 



OCT 31 1916 

SHORES PRESS 
NEW YORK 

5cU4454u9 



FOREWORD 

Pierrot and his friends have become more than 
legendary — have become indigenous to poetry — 
and these verses, written in the leisure hours of 
a New York editor, express a personal, individual 
conception of the sad, the gay, immortal buffoons. 
Comprehended, in this cycle, are hardly more 
than the spring tides and currents of emotion. 
The author has chosen to dedicate it to the mem- 
ory of Edgar Allan Poe, the least American and 
the greatest American poet that has yet lived. 

The poems have not been offered for previous 
publication other than to Poetry, of Chicago; 
The Bellman, of Minneapolis, and the Sun Dial 
Column, in th^New York Evening Sun; to which 
credit is given for reprinting a few of them, with 
slight changes. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Pierrette ii 

Forest Oracles 13 

Tryst 14 

Pierrot Gives an Accounting 16 

Pierrot Puzzled 18 

Pierrot in Lodgings 19 

Pierrot the Derelict 21 

Pierrot Appraises His Friends 25 

Pierrot Makes a Song 27 

The Stricken Pierrot . 28 

The Home-coming of Pierrette 29 

Pierrot and Pierrette at the Window . . . .30 

The Protest of Pierrot 31 

Pierrot Serenades Invisible Verandahs ... 32 

Enigma 34 

Pierrot Dispossessed 35 

Reconciliation 37 

Premonition 38 

Omen 39 

Pierrot Mourns the Death of Pierrette ... 40 

Pierrette in Memory 42 

Pierrot Writes His Epitaph 43 



Happy the songs of Pierrot, 
If she but heeds them: 

Happy for him to know 
That some one needs them. 

Happy, Pierrot, that a sigh. 
In words, is fleeting, — 

Ah! he would treasure most 
A happy greeting. 

Happy is he, is Pierrot, 
With his friends near him. 

Since his friends have to go, 
Who else shall hear him? 

Happy, if softly may fall 

Upon these pages. 
Shadows of hands that clasp 

Across the ages. 



PIERRETTE 

ONCE with the Graces 
Was Jove estranged, 
Weary of faces 

That never changed. 

Together draping 

The world with night, 
They thought of shaping 

A new delight: 

Imagined passion, 

And dreamt repose, — 
Something to fashion 

Out of a rose. 

By stars forsaken 
Were lakes and skies. 

Needed and taken 
To make her eyes. 

In their researches. 
They found the grace 

Of silver birches. 
To match her face. 



["] 



Devoid of pity 
For one so fair, 

They chose a city, 
And sent her there. 

In garden-closes, 
The perfume yet 

And grace of roses. 
Betray Pierrette. 




[12] 



FOREST ORACLES 

'YT'VONNE, Pierrette and Columbine 

Were strolling hand in hand: 
Debating which was most divine, 
The robin took a stand. 



Cock-sure himself, with breast afire, 

As breasts of robins are, 
He chose Yvonne, whose whole desire 

Was the moth for the star. 

The barred-owl, looking very wise, 

Chose Columbine to fill 
The forest and the empty skies 

With her warm crimson thrill. 

Pierrette, of roses had been made, 

Of moons and mystery; 
And in her deep blue eyes were laid 

The secrets of the sea. 

The ring-doves balloted by rote, 
And being most concerned. 

Chose Pierrette, on a rising vote. 
And joyously adjourned. 



[13] 



TRYST 

'T^URNING a sudden corner, 

**■ She reached the trysting place: 
The gods, grown weary of the sun. 
Put twUight in her face. 

Dreams, swift hopes, rising, falling,— 
Too soon, too late, too soon, — 

Were as a tide that rose and fell 
At the will of the moon. 

Around us was the star shine: 
Like May in flowers clad. 

Speaking she had the voice of brooks 
That made the meadows glad. 

She spoke of the great wonder 
That in her heart was laid. 

And in her life had come to pass: 
Ah! need she be afraid? 

The moon, with little vision. 

Saw what was going on, 
And by designing sorcery 

Made me forget Yvonne — 



[14] 



And lose her in this happy, 
Inconsequential crowd ; 

Feeling in silence with Pierrette 
What Pierrot sings aloud. 



[15] 



PIERROT GIVES AN ACCOUNTING 

T AM rich, but not in gold, 

Very young when she is by: 
In her absence then am I 
Very old. 

Old, so old that, in eclipse. 

My desire begins to freeze: 
Then come kisses — velvet bees 
On her lips. 

Redder lips there never were. 

Thawing frozen passion through. 
Until swarming kisses do 
Warm the air. 

With what rapture and desire, 

Is my vagrant fancy filled ! 
Burning, where my veins were chilled. 
What sweet fire! 

Heart to heart and hour by hour, 

Never a marauding bee 
Cherished such a treasury 
In a flower. 



[i6] 



Wayward hair as dark as jet, 

Blue eyes, tender as the dawn, 
In a gown of snowy lawn. 
Thrills Pierrette. 




[17] 



PIERROT PUZZLED 

'Tr^ODAY my fancy roams the fields, 

-■' Where daisies grow, 
And what each witching petal yields, 
Is fain to know. 

She loves me or she loves me not, 

Does Columbine? — 
Pierrette, the fickle, has forgot 

Poor me and mine. 

Ah ! how shall some few sous be made 

To flatter them? 
Could debts with kisses but be paid! 

Each kiss a gem! 

Today my fancy roams the fields. 

Where daisies grow. 
She loves me — loves me not. Which yields? 

Which scorns Pierrot? 



[i8] 



PIERROT IN LODGINGS 

T LOOK at my room, 
•'' And my life narrows down 
To the need of a broom, 
For my garret and town. 

The house-tops are gray 
From this garret of mine, 

But much harder than they 
Are the souls — to define. 

Oh, as drab and as dark 
As my own garret floor. 

They appear in the park. 
So remote from my door ! 

But my garret is high. 

And it looks over all. 
Commanding the sky 

And a view of the mall. 

In luxurious cars 

They loiter around. 
Who may yet see the stars 

From a hole in the ground. 



[19] 



Since the hole must be deep, 
Still the digging goes on, 

Though half the world sleep 
Till the break of the Dawn. 

Fear keeps some awake. 
Who will sleep in the end. 

And, dreaming, mistake 
The Foe for the Friend. 

But the Friend will arise 

And the Foe will come down, 
When the Janitor spies 

My garret and town. 




•' ^ 



c 



^n .-- 







[20] 



PIERROT THE DERELICT 

/CERTAINLY curious 

^*^ Are our penurious 

Selves — and absurd 

Ways of a bird, 

In his love-making; 

Aching, 

And breaking 

Hearts and forsaking 

Columbine, dear to us, 

Pierrette, so near to us. 

With no more reason 

Than is in treason! 

In, out of season 

Wooing, 

Pursuing 

This light-of-love — and then 

Others through bog and fen ; 

Miring, 

Desiring, 

Suddenly tiring; 

Groping and stark 

Daft and repeatedly shown to be blind 

Moles of a kind; 

Blinking 

And winking, 

Chaffing 

[21] 



And laughing, 
Until trouble 
Seems like a bubble 
Blown of delight, 
Or like a white 
Wisp in the dark, 
Time out of mind, 
Time out of mind! 

Cheery 

And merry 

As oaf or a faery 

Fetch on a spree. 

Are we — and free ! 

Scaramouche, Harlequin, 

Ugly as sin, 

Forcing a grin 

Through thick and thin; 

Hazy 

And lazy 

As some idle daisy. 

Pipe Pantaloon, 

Looking on life like the man in the moon! 

Soon — very soon, 

Ere we are laid 

Folded away, 

Will come a day, 

Or night of reckoning! 

[22] 



Pixies are beckoning 

Over the hedges, 

Over the ledges, 

Tripping 

And skipping; 

Trying to say. 

As plain as day. 

What is the way. 

Happiest way of a man with a maid, 

Man with a maid. 

Never was wooing done. 
Or such pursuing done — 
Saving the elves — 
As by ourselves! 
Poverty, haunting us. 
Daunting us. 
Flaunting us. 
Seems always wanting us 
To be conventional. 
Is it intentional 
That we are shirking 
Duties and smirking. 
Instead of working 
Six days in seven? 
This side of heaven. 
What is in store for us? 
Where any shore for us? 

[23] 



Or any oar for us? — 

Recklessly trimming 

Sails — and then swimming 

Round and about, 

Giving a shout, 

Ghostly, no doubt. 

Ere we go down, down, down, 

In sight of Town ! 

Who would behave 
So, but a knave — 
Thinking to save 
Hardly another 
Derelict brother 
From such a grave. 
Low, leaky grave? 



[24] 



PIERROT APPRAISES HIS FRIENDS 



T TUMBLY our names have come to live, 
■■■ -^ Like some desire 

That the cold world must needs forgive - 
Shadows of fire. 



Our names are but as Harlequin, 

As Columbine, 
Or Scaramouche, whose gargoyle grin 

Is most divine. 

Pierrette ? Shall not the whole world round 

Still love her well, 
After the years lose heart — and sound 

The passing bell? 

Upon the altar of her own 

Frail self is laid 
Shyly this gift — the giver grown 

Somewhat afraid. 

When my curbed passion is becalmed. 

May, for all time. 
Her elvish grace not be embalmed 

In gracious rhyme? 



[25] 



May she not be forever dear, 

Heroic, vain — 
Something exquisite as a tear, 

Shed of disdain? 

Sharing with Columbine the crown. 

In our poor crowd. 
Her dream of riches and renown 

Is to be proud. 

Pierrette! It turns my vision gray. 

To muse and know 
That presently must come a day 

For her to go. 

She shall have gone from us and Rome, 

But, seen afar, 
Shining in spirit, may become 

The evening star. 



[26] 



PIERROT MAKES A SONG 

T7ILLED with coquettish art, 
-^ Blue-eyed and witty, 
She of the fickle heart 
Is void of pity. 

She of the frosty air. 

Whom love amuses. 
Being so very fair. 

Chills ere she chooses. 

Who, given such a choice, 
Would not be chosen? 

Who, knowing her, rejoice 
Not to be frozen? 

Pierrette or Columbine? 

Which has the vision 
Still to hold me divine, 

Or in derision? 



[27] 



THE STRICKEN PIERROT 

OURGEON, cut deep 

Into my soul; 
Put me to sleep 

And make me whole. 
Repair and rinse 

My soiled desire ; 
Lance — lance the sins, 

Burn them with fire. 

Surgeon, cut deep 

Into my heart ; 
As the knives creep. 

Find the bad part. 
Purge me of lust. 

Fickleness, doubt, 
Falsity — just 

Take despair out. 

Surgeon, cut deep 

Into the breath 
My faith must keep. 

Even in death. 
Cut down my pride 

Close to the sod. 
Dead . . . Say he died 

Playing with God. 

[28] 



THE HOME-COMING OF PIERRETTE 

TX7HOSE foot-fall is it on the stair? 
* ^ What sweet white spell 
Is laid like perfume on the air, 
Where we — we dwell? 

A dear hand hovers at the door: 

The gods begin 
To open heaven more and more : 

Come in — come in ! 

Since morning has she been away, 

Whose absence makes 
Each moment longer than a day 

That never breaks. 

Ah me! that she should ever fail 

To gladden all 
The poor place, like a nightingale. 

At evenfall! 

Blinded by star dust in our eyes. 

Do we regret 
Our home is very near the skies? 

Pierrette, Pierrette! 



[29] 



PIERROT AND PIERRETTE AT THE 
WINDOW 

W7 HAT though we shape no mighty thing, 
^^ In word or deed; 
Nor sing as organ voices sing, 
Hymning a creed! 

Good-will, Pierrette, to all the crowd. 

Is something still 
Reserved for us to hum aloud; 

To all, good-will! 

Our windows, facing toward the sun. 

Are dim and small ; 
And our own vision from each one 

Is all in all. 

Searching above and under ground, 

Our fancies grope. 
Only to learn what may be found 

This side of hope. 

What wonders haply glorify 

The other side, 
Where lurking, veiled from mortal eye, 

The heavens hide! 

[30] 



THE PROTEST OF PIERROT 

T IKE harsh bells tolling in a trance, 
"*^' War is declared! 
Pierrette, the happiness of France 
May not be spared ! 

Think of sweet bleeding France — and all 

The joy to come, 
Being defeated : — and the pall 

On hope and home ! 

Home — home, Pierrette, for us at least. 

Who waited long. 
And who had put aside the feast 

To hear the song ! 

War is declared! Versailles ablaze! 

The world is bared! 
God! but the great nights and the days 

Love had declared! 



[31] 



PIERROT SERENADES INVISIBLE 
VERANDAHS 

T TNDER the moon, 

Softly a song, 
Only heart-long, 
Being a croon, 
Floats in the air, 
Seeking a fair 
Woman somewhere, 
Under the moon. 

Still are the stars. 
Shining above — 
Still and as cold 
As buried love, 
Are they tonight. 
What of guitars! 
Or any lute ! 
All being told. 
She remains mute. 
Somewhere : and quite 
Still are the stars. 

Chilled in my heart, 
Unspoken words 
Become a sigh, 
Like frozen birds, 

. [32] 



Fashioned to fly, 
Under the sky. 
Does anything 
Remain to sing, 
Or to aspire. 
Even in part, 
To the desire 
Chilled in my heart? 



[33] 



ENIGMA 

\T JHY is Pierrette more fair 
^^ Than Columbine? 
Why has her dusky hair 
Been so divine? 

Why are her speaking eyes 

Blue as the deep 
Wells digged in Paradise, 

Covered in sleep? 

Why does her slightest word 

Mean to me more 
Than the apostle heard, 

Off the far shore? 

Who can say what she is? 

Angel or elf? 
Perhaps my Nemesis? — 

Being herself. 

She is a mystery. 

Would I could tell 
Whether she means to me 

Heaven or hell! 



r34] 



PIERROT DISPOSSESSED 

COMETHING, in evil guise, 

Baser than Baal, 
Taking me by surprise, 
Sought my betrayal. 

Something, of evil look, 

Harkening after 
Pierrette, stole in and took 

My gift of laughter. 

Spying our candle light. 
Something came straying 

Like a thief in the night, 
Pierrette waylaying. 

Ah! was it Harlequin, 

Whose necromancy 
Sufficed to let him in 

And take her fancy? 

From me the villain stole 
Love — and professing 

Poverty, took the sole 
Thing worth possessing. 



[35] 



Fool to ransack the sky, 
Seeking a sonnet, 

Instead of ways to buy 
Pierrette a bonnet! 




[36] 



RECONCILIATION 

TXT' HEN she came back, my heart had found 

The secret spring ; 
The gates of heaven made no sound, 
In opening. 

When she came back, a needed song 

Fell from the sky, 
Like a spent eagle shot, but strong 

In death to fly. 

When she came back, the April world 

Made itself heard, 
Like thunder on a flower hurled, 

Or on a bird. 

Dawn — and the sable butterflies. 

So black, so black! 
Were as a rainbow in the skies. 

When she came back. 



[37] 



PREMONITION 

piERRETTE and I went fishing, 

Down on the Seine one day, 
And wasted time in wishing 
For good luck — on the way. 

The bait was not inviting; 

Or else the guiding powers 
Forbade the fishes biting, 

For hours and hours and hours. 

I shudder at the shocking 
Things said and done afloat. 

But for the fear of rocking 
A little cradle boat. 

Upon it musing, thinking. 

Night found us hand in hand: 

The silly stars were winking 
Before we came to land. 



[38] 



OMEN 

piERRETTE has gone to Bergamo; 

The skies are overcast ; 
And on her track is blown the snow, 
As by a phantom blast. 

Pierrot, with half a life to live. 
And with no heart to sing. 

Remains for her but to forgive. 
In Paris shivering. 

She — she who once was like a lark, 

Trailing a star, has flown 
Into the silence and the dark, 

And left Pierrot alone. 



[39] 



PIERROT MOURNS THE DEATH OF 
PIERRETTE 

A H ! was the soul of Cain 
"^ More deeply shaken, 
At the red dawn of pain, 
Or more forsaken? 

Ages or hours ago. 

Was it the sighing 
News came from Bergamo? 

Pierrette was dying. 

She who had meant so much, 

Not to me only. 
But whose dear voice and touch 

Made life less lonely. 

Ages or hours ago. 

Was it the hurried 
Message from Bergamo 

Said she was buried? 

Much had she been alone. 

Gentle, forgiving. 
Rapturous in her own 

Wonder at living. 

. [40] 



Placid and pale her brow, 
Jealousies banished; 

Nothing else matters now — 
Pierrette has vanished. 

Deep in my heart a drouth, 
Parching, discloses 

Cinders — and in my mouth 
Ashes of roses. 




[41] 



PIERRETTE IN MEMORY 

piERRETTE has gone, but it was not 
•*- Exactly that she died, 
So much as vanished and forgot 
To say where she would hide. 

To keep a sudden rendezvous. 

It came into her mind 
That she was late. What could she do 

But leave distress behind? 

Afraid of being in disgrace. 

And hurrying to dress. 
She heard there was another place 

In need of loveliness. 

She went so softly and so soon — 

Sh ! — hardly made a stir ; 
But going took the stars and moon 

And sun away with her. 



[42] 



PIERROT WRITES HIS EPITAPH 

IVyTINE was to hurry 
No passing bell, 
Having no credit 
In heaven or hell. 

Nor mine to worry 
And droop and mope 

Over the siren 
Shadow of hope. 

Ring from the steeple 

This epitaph: 
Pierrot saw through them. 

And died to laugh. — 

Saw through the people 

Who seldom smile ; 
And made her happy 

A little while. 



[43] 



MRS. BOBBLE'S 
TRAINED NURSE 

By 

GEORGE FOX TUCKER 

Author of ^' A Quaker Home '' etc. 

Have you a sense of humor? Mr. Bobble had, 
which was all that saved his disposition when his 
home was invaded by a stiff and starched tyrant 
in a pretty white cap. If you have ever had a 
trained nurse in your home, you should read this 
book in order that you may laugh in retrospect at 
the things which seemed almost tragic at the time. 
If you have never had a trained nurse in your 
home, you may be sure you will have one some 
day, and should read it in order that you may laugh 
while you are able. 

If you are a trained nurse, you should read It 
In order that you may govern with understand- 
ing the bewildered and sometimes rebellious sub- 
jects of your most potent scepter — the clinical 
thermometer. 

When we read this book in manuscript, we 
laughed so hard that we could only stop when the 
doctor threatened to send for a trained nurse ! 
J2m0y Cloth, $1.00 net. 

At All Bookstores 

ROBERT J. SHORES, 

Publisher, 

1977 Broadway, New York. 



THE PENNY 
ANTE CLUB 

By ARTHUR J. SHORES 

How much liberty should a man allow his wife ? 

Has woman ever established her claim to the 
possession of a soul? 

Should doctors be prosecuted for experimenting 
upon their patients ? 

Does the practice of the law destroy the moral 
sense ? 

Do lawyers make the best judges? 

Are men more open and above board than 
women? 

These and many other questions are discussed 
in " The Penny Ante Club " in humorous fash- 
ion. This is distinctly a man's book and one 
which will be enjoyed by any man, married or 
single, whether or not he has ever " sat in " at a 
game of Penny Ante. 

$1,00 net. 

At all booksellers or direct from 

ROBERT J. SHORES, 

Publisher, 
1977 Broadway, New York. 



MELINDA AND 
HER SISTERS 

By 
MRS. O. H. P. BELMONT 

AND 

ELSA MAXWELL 

^'Brilliant satire," says the New York World. 
^'Epigram and repartee sparkle from one end of 
the skit to the other." 

This book, written by Mrs. O. H. P. Belmont, 
President of the Political Equality Association, 
and Miss Elsa Maxwell of London, well-known 
writer of musical comedies, has attracted more 
attention than any other book of the year on the 
subject of suffrage. 

Here, for the first time, the subject of woman 
suffrage is treated satirically with the satire on 
the side of the suffragist. 

I2mo, hoards, suffrage colors, JO cents net. 

At all booksellers or from 

ROBERT J. SHORES, 

Publisher, 
1977 Broadway, New York. 



THE VALLEY 
OF LEBANON 

By HELEN S. WRIGHT 
Author of ''The Great White North/' etc. 



This is a story of the Berkshire Hills — 
that most beautiful section of New Eng- 
land which is the Mecca of the motorist. 
Filled with the natural beauty of the coun- 
try, athrill with human life and emotion, 
The Valley of Lebanon is marked by the 
keen observation and graphic touch so char- 
acteristic of this author. 

Price, $i.oo net 
At all booksellers or direct from 

ROBERT J. SHORES, 

Publisher, 
1977 Broadway, New York. 



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